57
Main Street was gone, reduced to brick shells and vacant, charred lots. At least one of the ruined buildings had dated back to the eighteenth century, and others were only marginally younger. Historians and architecture experts described it as a tragedy.
The Church of the Congregation of Adam Before Eve & Eve Before Adam was scattered over woods, roads, and what was left of the cemetery, which wasn’t much at all. Charred human remains, most of them long interred, would be dis covered for years after. Incredibly, the total number of fatalities amounted to just three: Pastor Michael Warraner, who had been inside his church when it was blown sky high; Bryan Joblin, killed in cold blood at Warraner’s house; and Thomas Souleby, the senior selectman of the town, who was said to have accompanied Chief Morland to the cemetery when the original call was received about a homeless trespasser, and who had not been able to get clear of the cemetery before the explosion occurred. Frank Robinson conducted the autopsy on Souleby, just so there could be no confusion about the matter. Unlike Pastor Warraner, Souleby’s body remained undamaged enough to allow for a proper burial. Morland had suffocated him, just as he had done with Hayley Conyer.
The newspapers and TV cameras were back. It would be a long time before they left. When asked about plans to rebuild, the town’s chief of police, Lucas Morland, said that work would begin on Main Street almost immediately, but he was unsure about plans for the church. The damage caused by the high explosives used meant that rebuilding the original church would be ruinously expensive if it were possible at all, which was doubtful. Perhaps a monument might be erected in its place, he suggested. Discussions on the issue would begin, said Morland, once the new board of selectmen was elected.
It remained unclear who might be responsible for what was described, almost immediately and inevitably, as an ‘act of terrorism’. Attention was focused variously on Muslims, fascists, secessionists, opponents of the federal government, radical socialists and extreme religious organizations, but Morland knew that none of those avenues of inquiry would ever yield any results.
The truth was that they should never have gone after the detective.
The Town Office had suffered significant damage, mostly in a successful effort to destroy the engines in the fire department. Officer Connie Dackson had watched it burn. Her captors had removed her from her cell and left her tied up at a safe distance from the conflagration. She thought that they might have been Asian, judging by their accents and their unusual politeness, but she couldn’t be certain. The Prosperous Police Department had immediately moved to temporary lodgings at the VFW meeting hall.
On the third day after the attack on his town – for that was what it now was, ‘his’ town – Lucas Morland watched the thawing snow from his window in the VFW hall. Meltwater ran down what remained of Main Street, starting clear at the top and ending up black as oil by the time it reached the bottom. More snow might come, but it would not last long. They were done with winter, and winter was done with them. They had survived – he had survived – and the town would be better and stronger for this purging. He felt a deep and abiding sense of admiration for its people. No sooner were the fires extinguished than the cleanup operation had begun. Buildings were being assessed for demolition or restoration, according to the damage they had sustained. Pledges of aid numbering into six figures had already been received. Calls had been made to the heads of the insurance companies involved warning them that any weaseling out of their commitments would not be tolerated, those calls having significant impact since they came from members of their own boards with ties to Prosperous.
Morland was under no illusions that the town’s troubles – or, more particularly, his troubles – were at an end. Those responsible for the partial destruction of his town might well decide to return. He recalled the words of the man at the cemetery – ‘The pastor has been telling me a lot about you.‘ Even in his final moments, Warraner had found a way to screw him over. At least Bryan Joblin was dead, too. He was one loose end about whom Morland no longer needed to worry.
Let them come, Morland thought. Let them come and I will face them down. Next time, I will be ready, and I will kill them where they stand.
Morland didn’t hear the woman approach. He no longer had his own office. His desk was just one part of the jumble of town services in the old hall. People were constantly arriving and departing, and there was a steady hum of noise.
‘Lucas.’
He turned from the window. Constance Souleby was standing before him. She held a gun in her hand: an old Colt. It did not shake, for the woman holding it was a picture of calm.
‘You could have spared him,’ she said.
He was aware of movement behind her, of someone approaching fast. He heard cries of shock. The gun had been noticed.
‘I am—’ Morland said.
The gun spoke in denial, and he ceased to be.
IV
RETURNING
The forenoon is burn-faced and wandering
And I am the death of the moon.
Below my countenance the bell of the night has broken
And I am the new divine wolf.
Adonis (Ali Ahmad Said Esber), ‘The Divine Wolf’
58
Ronald Straydeer was standing in his yard when the car arrived. Winter was surely departing, and he was piling the snow behind his woodshed, where it could melt away and be damned without him having to see it.
He rested his hands on his shovel as the car drew to a halt, and felt a small ache of fear when the two men emerged from it. He had not seen or spoken to them since that night in Prosperous, but they were not men who liked to leave loose ends. They had no cause for concern on his part, nor on the part of those whom he had brought with him to put Prosperous to the torch. Some had already left the state. Those who remained would keep silent.
The two men leaned on their car doors and regarded him.
‘Beautiful day,’ said Angel.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘Looks like winter may be ending.’
‘Yes.’
Angel looked at Louis. Louis shrugged.
‘We came to thank you,’ said Angel. ‘We’re going to see Parker, and say goodbye. It’s time for us to get back to civilization.’
‘I have called at the hospital,’ said Ronald. ‘They tell me there is no change.’
‘There’s always hope,’ said Angel.
‘Yes,’ said Ronald. ‘I believe that’s true.’
‘Anyway,’ said Angel, ‘we have a gift for you, I guess, if you want it.’
He opened the rear door of the car, and reached inside. When he emerged again, he held a female German Shepherd puppy in his arms. He walked up to Ronald, placed the dog at his feet, and held out the leash. Ronald did not take it. He looked at the dog. The dog sat for a moment, scratched itself, then stood and placed its front paws against Ronald’s right leg.
‘Parker talked about you,’ said Angel. ‘He used to tell us it was time you got another dog. He thought you might be starting to feel the same way too.’
Ronald put the shovel aside. He leaned down and scratched the puppy’s head. It wriggled with joy and continued trying to climb his leg.
Ronald took the leash from Angel and unclipped it from the dog’s collar.
‘You want to come with me?’ he said to the dog.
He began walking toward his home. Without looking back at Angel, the dog followed, leaping to keep up with the long strides of its master.
‘Thank you,’ said Ronald Straydeer.
Louis got back in the car. Angel joined him.
‘Told you he’d keep the dog,’ said Louis.
‘Yeah. I think you’re getting soft in your old age.’
‘That may be.’
He reversed down Ronald’s drive.
‘How come we never got a dog?’ said Angel.
‘I don’t need a dog,’ said Louis. ‘I got you.’
‘Right,’ said Angel.
He thought about it for a moment.
‘Hey …’